


Heads and Tails

by agentmarvel



Series: Two Sides to Every Medal [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Bronze (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs in a Car, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Evanstan Rarepair Trashcan, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Obsessive Behavior, Mixed POV, Praise Kink, Rimming, Rough Sex, excessive use of pet names probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 00:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10424871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmarvel/pseuds/agentmarvel
Summary: Lance can't stop thinking about Steve, and frankly, he doesn't want to.Steve can't stop thinking about Lance, but he just wants to forget.It's a toss-up.





	1. Heads

Lance drags his hand through the condensation on the mirror. The fog blanketing the glass had obscured his view of his own meticulously crafted body, something he would’ve found particularly irksome if it weren’t for the fact that his mind was already occupied. He can’t seem to shake all those thoughts of Rogers; the feel of his fingertips on Lance’s skin, how sweet his lips taste, the pretty little sounds he makes when he’s just skimming the edge. He doesn’t want to forget. Lance craves more, and he’s not sure how long he can keep that feeling at bay.

Through the streaks made by his fingers, Lance can see the discolored splotches dotting his neck, shoulder, and chest. All different shapes, sizes, and hues, and he adores them all. In between bruises, fading pink lines cross over his pecs. They’d calmed infinitely from the violent shade of red they were in the days before. Impressions of teeth still mar his usually flawless skin. The two arcs curve impeccably, mirroring the perfect smile that left them behind. For someone who takes this much pride in his appearance, Lance can’t even bring himself to be angry about it. A nagging voice in the back of his mind reminds him that maybe, just maybe, it’s because he likes it this time. Or maybe he just likes Steve Rogers…

 _No. That’s not it. Can’t be. I don’t_ like _people._

Tugging off the towel around his waist, Lance dabs gently at his tarnished flesh. His muscles still scream in protest. There isn’t a single one that doesn’t ache. It’s especially bad when he tries to bend over and dry his legs. His hamstrings cramp up, and the pain is white hot. Almost excruciating, but so worth it. Lance isn’t sure how he ever lived without it, to be honest, and he’s prepared to do just about anything to make this more than some one-time thing. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Never thought he’d be so keen on having a nonagenarian fuck buddy.

After he feels like he’s sufficiently less wet (considering just how loudly his muscles pleaded with him to air dry instead), he makes his way back into his bedroom and flops down on the mattress. The fleece flag blanket topping his comforter welcomed him back like a long lost friend, rubbing along his spine soothingly. It’s the closest thing to at ease he’s felt since that sweet little kiss Steve gave him in the shower at the gym.

Man, Lance would love to get ahold of those security tapes. He’d probably watch that video more often than he watches his own Olympic win, more than he watches the medal presentation. That video would be his new – Wait.

 _Fuck_.

If the gym has Steve and Lance on tape, this could be a huge scandal. Something like this would ruin Lance’s career. Everything he’d worked his entire life for would be gone in a flash. No way Team USA would retain him as a coach if they caught wind of this. There’s no fucking way he’d ever recover from that loss. He’d never survive being a simple civil servant. Lance Tucker is not a commoner; he’s an Olympic gymnast, for fuck’s sake, a God amongst men. No one’s ever caught Thor flipping burgers. That’s not an existence that Lance would ever settle for.

Selfishness aside, what would this do to Steve? What repercussions would he face? The media backlash alone would flip side to side so fast, it’d break his neck. They could turn the world’s perception of him on its axis, and that could destroy him. They’d spin him to be something he’s not, and that would crush him. Lance doesn’t know much about Steve Rogers, but he knows enough to know that Steve’s spent literally his entire life striving to be a good man, doing his damnedest not to let anyone down. Just the thought of someone trying to make him look bad because of this makes Lance feel sick to his stomach.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” Lance mutters, running a hand through his hair. This is not him. The real Lance Tucker doesn't _do_ pity. He’s the fucking _God_ of gymnastics, a gold medalist, an American hero. He doesn’t have the time to feel bad for someone else. He doesn’t have the time to _care_.

But the nagging little voice in his head is still there. It reminds him that he does. He does care. He cares about Steve Rogers, and that’s not just his dick talking.

Well, double fuck.

 

*****

 

Steve can’t sleep. For hours, he’s been tossing and turning in his bed, trying to forget. Forget the feeling of Lance’s fingers in his hair. Forget the way his parted lips looked between ragged breaths. Forget the way he looked at Steve, the weight of his mouth on Steve’s. Forget the way he said Steve’s name.

 _God_ , that fucks him up every time he thinks about it. That desperate, breathless whine just wrecks him. Who knew that something so small, so seemingly insignificant could bring him to his knees?

Before he realizes it, Steve’s got a hand tucked beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. His fingertips graze his already half-hard length repeatedly, falling into rhythm with Lance’s voice in his head. Every distressed plea encourages him just that much more until he has no other choice but to remove the pesky pants.

His wide, calloused palm drags across his hip before settling just below the head of his cock. Slowly, his fingers fall into place, and he begins to lazily stroke himself.

 _“C’mon, Rogers, please… Oh fucking God,_ _please_ _!”_

Steve picks up the pace. Through parted lips, he stutters out a hushed groan and his brows knit together, shadowing his closed eyelids. Part of him wants to feel guilty for this. He _wants_ to feel bad about the fact that this keeps happening. It’s the fifth time today Lance had wormed his way back into Steve’s head, and he can’t seem to stop himself from giving in.

His free hand dips between his thighs to massage his balls. He rolls them between his fingers, then drags the tip of his index finger up the seam. It reminds him even more of Lance’s tongue. The need to touch him again, to taste him again, to _feel_ him again, it triples.

 _“Fuck me, Steve… Please. Steve… Steve,_ _please_ _! More… Steve, please,_ _more_ _.”_

Readjusting, Steve tightens his grip with both hands. He starts to work himself from base to tip, ensuring that he’s not neglecting a single inch. His strokes speed up, getting a little bit rougher at the mere thought of burying himself balls-deep inside of that mouthy bastard again. The gentle twist of his other hand tugs into more aggressive tugs, and he can’t keep down the pleased moan rolling off his tongue.

_“N-Need your cock. Need you…”_

He feels his back arch off the bed, fucking his cock up into his fist. Steve bites the inside of his lip, jerking himself harder, faster, harder, faster, meeting his hips in the middle. It’s rough and fast and dirty. He can’t stop. He can’t slow down. He wants _more_. This won’t come even close to fully satisfying him, but he can’t fucking stop.

_“That’s it… Come for me, Stevie. Show me who gets the last word.”_

That’s all it takes. His abdomen clenches, and he curls forward just a little bit. Every muscle in his body tenses as every nerve lights up with ecstasy. A flash of white clouds his vision, and for a second, he swears he can see a razor-sharp jaw line, chiseled cheekbones, and a pair of stormy blue eyes.

Streaks of come splatter across Steve’s chest and stomach, and they’re accompanied by a broken, strangled cry from somewhere in the back of his throat. He strokes himself through his climax, waiting for that twinge of pain from overstimulation, the tell-tale sign that his body’s had enough. As soon as it hits, he allows his softening cock to rest against his stomach. It’s just a little bit heavier than Lance’s. He remembers that feeling all too well.

What the fuck is Steve supposed to do? He’s faced up to the likes of Red Skull, the Chitauri, HYDRA, Ultron and his bots, and the feeling in his stomach stirs up more fear than all of the above combined. Sure, he’s had infatuations before. A few people, men and women alike, had made his shortlist in the brief twenty-nine years he’d been alive (he’s not factoring in the seventy he spent in the ice). But none of that even held a candle to his obsession with Lance Tucker. He’s not in love, that he knows for damn sure. He also knows that these feelings aren’t just lust, either. It’s something in between, and that scares the living shit out of him.

With a hard exhale, Steve looks over at the clock on his bedside table. The glaring green numbers warn him it’s just before five in the morning. It wouldn’t be worth taking a forty-five minute nap before his alarm goes off, so he shuts the alarm off and drags himself out of bed.

The flooring in the hallway is cold beneath his bare feet, but the tile in his bathroom is far less forgiving. A chill rides up his spine, and he closes his eyes for a second. _Not again_.

But once the shower is hot enough and his entire bathroom is filled with steam, after he closes the curtain and steps under the stream, he _is_ at it again.

And not for a second does he feel as guilty as he wants to.

 

*****

 

He’s fiending again. The markings have long since faded from Lance’s body, and he misses them. His patience is wearing thin. He wants them back. Desperate has never been a word he’s used to describe himself, but he’s jonesing for more like a junkie in need of a fix. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Steve Rogers is his heroin.

Three weeks pass since the encounter at the gym, and Lance hasn’t seen the star-spangled stud. It’s not like he’s intentionally avoiding Rogers, nor does he believe Rogers is avoiding him (because come on, who in their right mind would actually reject Lance fucking Tucker?). The first week is solely about recovery. No way is he working out with as stiff and sore as he’s been. Gymnastics takes over the second week. Lance is in and out of coaching conferences like you wouldn’t believe, plus an interview for television and scouting a few new potential up-and-comers. And week three, when he’s finally ready to get back in the gym, the good Captain is nowhere to be seen. Lance can only assume that Steve has been called away on a mission, and the news of extremists destroying what had been rebuilt of Sokovia merely confirms that.

Presently, Lance finds himself curled up beneath a blanket on his couch. After flipping through the channel guide and finding nothing to his liking, he settles for watching Doctor Strange on pay-per-view (the resemblance between Benedict Cumberbatch and the actual Stephen Strange? Uncanny.). As the comic strips roll into the Marvel logo, he grabs a slice of cold pizza from his plate on the arm of the couch. It’s his cheat day, sue him.

Throughout the whole film, all he can do is think of Steve. Every action Strange takes, he contemplates how Steve would’ve handled it differently. Strange crashed his Lamborghini? _Steve never would’ve been so reckless._ Moving in with a total stranger halfway across the world for selfish reasons? _Pffft. There’s not a single selfish bone in Steve’s body._ Learning to open gateways to different dimensions? _Okay, that’s just downright fucking stupid. Strange needs a straight up super soldier sucker punch to knock some god damn sense into him._ The entire battle with Kaecilius? _Bullshit. Steve would’ve had it handled in less than half the time, though he never would’ve let it get to that point anyways._

He draws parallels to himself throughout the movie, too. In many ways, he and Strange share many attributes. They’re both arrogant pricks and quite proud of it. Pride consumes both of them, personally and professionally. It’s only when they stand to gain something substantial that they ask for help. And perhaps the worst, they don’t even realize that they’re alone.

Until now. Now Lance knows. He can feel it deep in his bones, and it’s not pleasant. It’s been years since he’s spoken to his parents, he rarely sees his brother, despite the two living in the same city, and his highly competitive career isn’t exactly a great place for him to make friends. That and he’s kind of an asshole. He pushes everyone away, regardless of the consequences.

With an indignant huff, Lance shuts the television off and throws the remote to the other end of the couch. What in the actual fuck is wrong with him? When did he develop feelings? He gets fucked by one of the hottest guys he’s ever met, and suddenly he’s Mr. Sensitive? No. That’s fucking stupid.

He’s so annoyed with this shit that he almost ignored the sharp chirp of his phone alerting him to a new text message. Rolling his eyes, he looks down at the screen, greeted by a notification from an unknown number.

_Who the fuck thinks they’re important enough to bother me right now? Jesus Christ…_

Begrudgingly, he opens the text and upon reading it, he feels like he can’t breathe.

**We need to talk. Meet me at the Union Market Peregrine Espresso in two hours. - Steve**

 

*****

 

Anxiety fuels Steve to fidget. His knee bounces beneath the table in time with his racing heart. The knots in his stomach make him feel like he might just vomit, and he’s praying to God that he doesn’t. Not with Lance sitting in front of him.

“So, you wanted to talk?” Lance prompted, one corner of his mouth curling up into his smug trademark smirk. Steve nodded. He’s mentally rehearsed this conversation with himself hundreds of times in the last few days, so the real thing shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

Wrong. Steve opens his mouth to start, and nothing comes out. All the words he’s worked so hard to put together scramble themselves up and evacuate. He’s sure he looks like a fish out of water with how many times he’s opened and closed his mouth, and all the while, Lance is just watching him with one eyebrow cocked. The smirk on his face grows a little wider.

“C’mon, Captain. Say what you wanna say. I can take it.” He pauses just long enough to take a sip of his coffee and leans forward on his elbows. Looking Steve square in the eye and not lowering his voice at all, he adds, “You know how well I can take it, don’t you?”

Steve swallows hard, but a sudden surge of confidence inspires him. He leans back and crosses his legs, taking a nip of his own drink.

“You take it real good,” Steve replies evenly, licking a stray drop of coffee from his lip. “But that’s not why I’m here. S’not why I asked _you_ here.”

“Elaborate, then, _Stevie_.” Lance catches his lower lip between his teeth, and Steve has a sudden urge to just dive across the table, tear every stitch of clothing off this man, and fuck him right here. On the table. In front of other people. Fuck him hard and deep and dirty and – Steve just wants to fuck him into the floor. Make him beg, make him scream, make him cry.

There’s no fucking way they’re gonna be able to discuss any of this now, not with how quickly Steve’s body is reacting. Every single word Steve’s managed to reconstruct is obliterated again. He’s back to looking like a fucking guppy, and this is not good. Not at all. Instead of saying what he wants to say, he simply says, “Let’s get outta here.”

This is a bad decision. It’s rash and selfish and unpractical, but once they’re in Lance’s car, it’s game over. As soon as he gets his plump, pink lips wrapped around Steve’s cock, none of it matters.

It’s fast and filthy. Steve tangles a hand in Lance’s perfectly groomed hair, guiding him down slowly until the tip of his nose is pressed to Steve’s skin, and he holds him there. Lance gags, and Steve thrusts his hips up. They keep at it until the Olympian’s face is bright red. Tears are dripping off his cheeks on to Steve’s thighs while his pretty little mouth is getting fucked.

Steve comes hard, holding Lance all the way down until his orgasm subsides. Lance swallows, careful not to get a single drop of come anywhere in his car, and Steve watches it all through somewhat hazy vision. He can’t seem to think straight. All he wants is to take Lance home. It’s not like last time, because now he actually wants to show this loud-mouthed punk-ass kid how beautiful Steve thinks he is. He wants to be delicate, treat him like a king, prove to him that there could be something real between them if they both just give in and let it happen.

Fuck. What’s he gotten himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments would be rad. : )


	2. Tails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus fuck. Sorry it took so long for me to finish this one, guys!

The second Steve’s apartment door latches behind them, Steve’s dominant streak takes control. He shoves Lance into the drywall, just barely hearing it crack beneath the weight of the impact. The hiss Lance lets out is muffled by Steve’s mouth on his. It’s closely followed by a hushed moan, one which Steve swallows down with every ounce of enthusiasm in his body.

His hands grab at the hem of Lance’s shirt, and he rucks it up just beneath the brunette’s arms. There’s a sense of hesitancy when Steve breaks the kiss to dispose of the garment, because dear god, he hates the loss of contact, even if only for a second.

Lance seems to echo the sentiment, simultaneously taking a deep breath to fill his lungs and lunging back to Steve’s waiting mouth. They reconnect so forcefully Steve has to take half a step backwards. His finger wraps around Lance’s neck, pressing just a little against his jaw. Lance gasps gratefully, and Steve takes the opportunity to lick straight into Lance’s mouth.

They stay like this for a few moments before Steve finally breaks the kiss. He needs oxygen, and he knows if his enhanced lungs are burning, Lance’s must be a pile of ash by now. It’s obvious by the way his chest heaves when Steve relents, and Steve takes the opportunity to start guiding Lance towards the bedroom. A bit forward, he knows, but he hasn’t exactly taken his time with anything involving this guy.

Halfway down the hall, Lance pulls his hand from Steve’s, effectively freezing him in his tracks. When he looks back, Lance is staring at him with one cocked eyebrow and his arms folded across his chest. This sets Steve on edge, and he silently prays that Lance isn’t about to bail on him. Steve isn’t ready to let him go yet…

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked. Lance’s lips twisted into a smirk.

“I will not take another step until you take that god damn shirt off.” Steve chuckles out a sigh of relief, hiking his shirt up and over his head and tossing it at Lance. Before it even hits the floor, Lance is advancing on Steve once more. He catches Steve’s mouth with his for a fraction of a second before the blonde spins him around and shoves him against the hall wall. Steve catches Lance’s wrists in one of his hands and pins them over his head.

Lance is just about to question it when he feels Steve’s thick cock pressed against his lower back. The soldier leans down and nips harshly at the curve of his neck before sucking a dark bruise into the skin. Lance pushes his hips back, desperate for more. But Steve won’t give him that. He knows better.

Instead, he licks along Lance’s feverish flesh, making his way up to his ear.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Steve breathes out.

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Lance pants back, feeling Steve’s free hand slide between him and the wall. Steve’s palming him through his jeans, using the contact to pull Lance impossible closer. There’s a chuckle hushed against Lance’s skin and a firm squeeze on his already leaking cock.

“I’m gonna hurt you so good, baby. C’mon.”

Suddenly Steve’s not holding him anymore, and he’s walking away. He’s walking backwards, staring Lance down, beckoning him with a single finger. Lance has to take a second to breathe. There’s an airiness in his head that makes him feel like he might pass out. _Yeah, probably because all the blood in your body went straight to your dick, bud._

It feels like forever before Lance moves, but he finally does. Steve’s barely crossed the threshold into the bedroom, and Lance is scrambling to catch up. It’s almost hypnotic, the look in Steve’s eyes. He doesn’t flinch as the back of his knees hit the edge of his mattress. There’s no stumble or clumsiness. He merely sits down and waits for Lance to reach the doorway.

Steve pats his thigh, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Without a word, Lance takes quick strides over the floor separating them and crawls into his lap. He settles with his knees framing Steve’s legs and his heels tucked beneath his rear. Wasting no time, he starts to grind into Steve, taking up a slow, leisurely pace. Mindlessly, Steve’s palms wander to grip Lance’s firm, sculpted backside. He gives it a few teasing squeezes before he realizes it’s not enough. There are clothes in the way. Too many layers and Steve _needs_ to be closer. He _needs_ to feel Lance the same way he did before.

On instinct, Steve’s hand blindly dips into the back of Lance’s jeans, between the elastic band of his briefs and his heated skin. Lance’s hips buck forward hard the second Steve gives one cheek a rough grasp.

“Ah, Steve…” he sighs into the Captain’s mouth. That’s it. That’s enough.

Seizing his opportunity, a moment with an advantage, Steve flips. Lance is pinned between the super soldier and the mattress. In one fluid motion, Lance’s pants are discarded at the same time as his briefs and he retaliates instantly, yanking Steve’s sweats down. _Of course he’s going fucking commando…_ Lance groans at the feeling of Steve’s bare skin, and that does it. Steve is rutting into him the second he’s free, reclaiming those sinful lips like they belong to him.

Steve’s weight holds Lance down against the mattress. His forearms support his broad shoulders for only a brief moment before Lance’s fingers grasp at the back of his head and neck, pulling him impossibly closer. Mindlessly, Steve grinds his hips into Lance. All the blood in his body rushes south as his solid length brushes against the gymnast’s over and over. The friction is enough to spark a flame, and Steve already feels like he’s burning alive.

The rhythm of their lips doesn’t alter as Lance reacts, hips working upwards in well-timed circles. One hand tugs on the hair at the base of Steve’s skull, and he grunts, nipping at Lance’s lower lip. The sweet little sound that Lance lets out is fucking beautiful, and it takes every ounce of restraint Steve possesses not to just flip him face-down and fuck him into the mattress.

“Steve…”

The sound is so hushed that it could’ve easily been missed. But Steve’s keen hearing picks it up, and he hesitates, replying with a breathless, “yeah?”

“Are you sure you want this?” Lance Tucker has never sounded so god damn vulnerable in his life, and Steve can tell. There’s a waver in his words and hesitancy on his tongue, like he’s afraid he’ll say the wrong thing. But dear god, Steve has never been so certain before. This is all he’s wanted, all he’s thought about, since the first time it happened.

Rather than answering immediately, he moves to cradle Lance’s chiseled jaw against his calloused palm. He traces to cleft of his chin before planting a surprisingly gentle kiss against it.

“Believe me, I’m more than sure.”

The tip of Steve’s thumb moves to trace Lance’s pouty lips. God, he fucking _loves_ that mouth. The curve of his grin is just as captivating as the curve of his hip, and the way his tongue moves is more elegant than the world’s finest calligraphy.

Steve can’t help but groan when he feels Lance’s tongue prod playfully against his finger. He can’t help but groan louder when he feels Lance wraps those perfectly pink lips around it. Wet heat encases his thumb, and Lance draws back slowly, sucking oh so lightly until it falls from his mouth. That playful smirk graces his lips once more.

His fingers dance against Steve’s skin, weaving a pattern from the base of his neck to his chest to his stomach. There’s no hesitation in his movements. He plants one more kiss against Steve’s mouth (smirk intact, of course) before practically dragging Steve to the edge of the bed, moving off himself, and sinking down until he’s left hovering between the blonde’s thick thighs.

Lance looks up at Steve, taking a cautious moment to memorize exactly how enticing he looks. He’d never admit it, but he felt a pang of jealousy. Never in his wildest dreams could he match the kind of beauty laid before him. Steve’s hair is unkempt, sticking up from being pulled on and tousled from Lance holding on. The creases on his forehead from his furrowed brows are dotted with sweat, and his eyes are closed, fanning his long, dark lashes across his flushed skin. He’s so breathless, lips parted in a silent plea for air. Steven Rogers is fucking perfect, Lance is sure of that.

When Steve finally opens his eyes, those big blues lock on Lance, and he suddenly wants nothing more than to please the stunning super soldier. Removing the hand from Steve’s abdomen, Lance wraps his fingers around the base of the Captain’s cock. His fingertips don’t quite touch, but still, he gives a few uneven pumps before taking the head between his lips and closing his eyes.

“Don’t do that,” Steve commands quietly as he cradles Lance’s jaw in a delicate hold. “I want you to look at me.”

Not a single thought goes through his mind. The feeling of Steve’s skin on his drives him to mindlessly comply the second he speaks. Lance inhales through his nose and peers up at Steve once more. A fine, genuine smile curls up the corners of Steve’s mouth.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, carding a hand through Lance’s undoubtedly messy hair. Lance can’t help but preen at the compliment, showing his appreciation by downing every inch of Steve he can.

Steve leans in, feeling Lance’s lips wrapped around his base. He reaches out, letting his fingertips rest high on the brunette’s neck. As Lance starts to move up and down, Steve can literally _feel_ his dick sliding in and out of Lance’s throat. Oh _god_. It’s so hot, and he almost blows his load right then and there.

“Fuck,” Steve growls. “You’re so pretty, baby. You look so good like this.”

Lance groans, sending a long vibration up the length of Steve’s cock, and he can’t help it. His hips cant forward of their own accord. Lance chokes a little. The sound spurs Steve on, and he grabs the back of Lance’s head, holding it still while he takes up a brutal pace, fucking the younger man’s mouth. The blunt edges of Lance’s nails bite into Steve’s hips, leaving angry red crescents on the skin.

It’s not the feeling or the sound that does him in; it’s the sight. Steve looks down to find Lance still staring up at him, even with tears flooding his eyes and dripping down his cheeks, his entire face reddening, and his nostrils flaring in a desperate plea for air. Steve can’t even bark out a warning before he comes down Lance’s throat. He stills his movements, breath ragged as he rides out the high.

Lance draws back, wrapping a hand as best he can around Steve’s length. A thick string of spit and come keeps them connected while Lance strokes him gently, circling his tongue around the frenulum and placing soft kisses on the head, all while trying to catch his breath. Cautiously, he takes about half the tip in his mouth and flicks his tongue over the slit before sucking oh so delicately. Steve moans loud and long above him. He’s over-stimulated to the point of being in pain, but it’s the best kind of pain.

“I love that mouth’a yours,” he pants, stroking Lance’s hair. “But I need to be inside you.”

Lance lets Steve’s soft length fall from his mouth. He scrambles to his feet. Another scant second and their mouths are slotted together in another heated kiss. Steve grabs Lance’s ass with both hands, squeezing and spreading it before circling the tight hole with his finger. He all but falls in love with how he tastes on Lance’s tongue, and he prays to whoever might be listening that this won’t be the last time he gets to touch him like this.

Steve’s the one to break the kiss, albeit begrudgingly. Reaching between their bodies, he takes Lance’s cock in his hand. There’s a trail of precome down from tip to thighs, and Steve just gets fucking _greedy_. He swipes his thumb across the slit to gather the bead of precome waiting for him and brings his hand to his mouth.

It was pure torture for Lance to watch Steve lick his fingers. He’s so tantalized by the visual that he _needs_ relief. His cock is heavy and so hard it hurts. On instinct, his hand snakes down between his hips. Just as his fingers graze the thick vein on the underside, Steve wraps his free hand over Lance’s.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” His voice is dangerously low and oh so fucking sexy. Lance is pretty sure he could blow his load just listening to Steve talk like that.

“Nothing,” Lance breathes back. Steve’s grip on his hand tightens, forcing his hand to tighten around his cock. A dribble of precome lands on their fingers, and Lance whimpers as Steve guides him to start stroking.

“Don’t lie to me, pretty baby.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he feels Steve pick up the pace. His hand tightens again.

“Fuck!” Lance cries out. He almost chokes on the breath caught in his throat. “I need to your fucking mouth on me, Steve. Please – _ah_! Fuck! – _please_!”

Steve chuckles dryly, and good god, Lance wants to smack that fucking smile off his face. He can’t see it, but he knows it’s there.

When Steve’s touch disappears, Lance manages to pry his eyes open. Steve situates himself by the headboard and lays down, beckoning Lance to him with one finger. Lance complies, crawling across the bed. He’s just about to throw a leg over Steve to straddle him when an open palm lands a sharp smack on his ass. The sound he makes is somewhere between a yelp and a moan, and that earns him another stinging swing.

“Bring that perfect ass up here,” Steve commands. Lance raises an eyebrow, posing silent question that is answered straight away. “I want you to face the end of the bed and lemme get my mouth on you.”

Well, color him shocked. Steve Rogers is actually asking Lance Tucker to sit on his face. He would’ve chuckled if it weren’t so god damn hot.

Lance plants his knees by either of Steve’s shoulders and lowers his hips a little. Steve wastes no time reaching over Lance’s hips and pulling him down a little further.

“Perfect throne for a king. Right, Captain?” Lance remarks as Steve spreads his perfectly round cheeks. Any response Steve might have is left in silence, and anything more Lance could say dies on his lips as Steve licks a flat stripe over his hole.

Immediately, he curls forward a little, bracing himself on Steve’s chest. God, he forgot how fucking _good_ this feels. His entire body feels feverish, and he can’t contain the harsh growl that comes out of his throat as Steve sets his pace. His tongue traces the tight ring of muscle teasingly, then flickers over it like a candle flame. The tip dips just barely in, and then Lance feels Steve’s teeth sink into his left cheek. Lance hisses, and he can feel Steve smirking as he resumes circling.

“Shit,” he groans. “That’s it, Stevie. Just like that.”

The smirk grows, and he continues. His tongue pushes back in, and he wonders just how many times Steve could take him apart in one night just doing one thing at a time. His voice for starters, his hands, his mouth, his dick…

Lance feels his cock drag through a wet spot on Steve’s chest, and he looks down. The amount of precome smeared all over his pecs is almost embarrassing. It’s puddled a bit in the cut of his abs, and for some reason, Lance feels an overwhelming pride at the sight. He’s marking his territory, claiming what’s his. No one else would ever get to see Steve this way.

Except Steve isn’t his.

Lance has no claim to Steve.

And that would’ve hurt him if could think straight.

Steve tightens his grip, guiding Lance to rock his hips. His bristly beard dragged across Lance’s skin, and he knew he’d be in for some wicked beard burn in the morning, but he couldn’t be bothered to give a shit. Sitting up a little straighter, he feels Steve’s tongue thrust up into him and legit almost screams. He starts grinding back into the pressure, and Steve encourages it with a pleased groan. He’s riding Steve’s face, and it’s surprising how much deeper he feels it in his position. It’s the first time he’s done this, but he’ll gladly do it daily if that’s what Steve wants.

“Need more,” Lance whimpers when Steve seals his mouth over the hole. “Fuck, Cap!”

Steve’s mind goes hazy after that.

The next thing he knows, he has Lance pinned beneath him, squirming and begging and _crying_. Steve’s got three fingers buried knuckle-deep inside him, his cock nudging the back of Steve’s throat, and a litany of threats and praises as he pleads with Steve to let him come.

“Oh god, oh _fuck_ … Stevie, _please_. I _need_ to come. Please, please, _please_.”

Steve downs him all the way to the base and twists his head on the way back up. He lets Lance fall from his mouth slowly before working in his fourth finger. Carefully, he spreads his fingers out while he crawls up Lance’s body. The tears on Lance’s cheeks are clearly from frustration, not from pain, much to Steve’s relief. He can tell by the way Lance reaches for him when he gets close enough. Steve chuckles, letting his mouth hover over Lance’s.

During the backwards drag of his hand, Steve finds exactly what he’s looking for. His fingertips brush Lance’s prostate, and his back bows off the mattress. The growl that comes out of him is followed by a wrecked sob.

“You’re doin’ so good, babydoll,” Steve croons, kissing just behind Lance’s ear.

“I can’t take anymore,” Lance protests, legs shaking. “Please, Steve… I need to come.”

Steve doesn’t doubt that. Lance’s beautiful cock is a violent shade of red, leaking all over his abdomen. For a brief moment, Steve considers letting him. With the missing chunk of time, he’s suddenly unsure again whether or not he crossed a line.

“You gotta answer a question for me first,” Steve says softly, trailing a finger up and down the thick, throbbing vein on the underside of Lance’s length. He places a delicate kiss on Lance’s lower lip, waiting for him to acknowledge that he even heard Steve.

Lance managed a weak nod, chasing Steve’s lips when they move out of reach.

“Do you want to come now, or do you want me to fuck you?”

Without hesitance, Lance answers, “You’re not gonna make me this miserable and _not_ fuck me, you prick.”

“Then turn over.”

In less than two minutes, Lance is face down and full. So fucking full. Steve’s straddling his hips and pinning his wrists against the sheets. The pace is slow, but Lance can’t bring himself to demand more. In this position, he can feel Steve’s labored breaths against the back of his neck. With Steve’s chest pressed against his back, he can feel the pounding of the blonde’s heart against his rib cage. There’s a level of intimacy that wasn’t present last time, and it’s soothing.

Steve’s hips roll like the tide. He’s unhurried, taking his time to ensure that Lance feels everything, feels every inch. It’s silent, aside from their harsh breaths. Only when Steve is fully seated inside Lance do they alter that. There’s a little hitch and moan from Lance’s throat every time their hips are flush with each other.

“Steve?” Lance mutters. Steve hums in response, kissing the back of Lance’s neck. “I wanna see you. Please?”

The request is simple enough, and Steve has no qualms about giving him what he wants. He takes his time pulling out and just about fucking loses it when he watches Lance’s hole adjust to the emptiness. With gentle hands, Steve turns Lance over and settles between his thighs. Steve guides Lance’s legs to his hips, but Lance shakes his head.

“Shoulders,” he breathes. Steve cocks an eyebrow with a smirk. “I’m a fucking gymnast. Take advantage of it.”

Well, he can’t argue with that…

If there’s one thing Steve’s learned about himself when it comes to Lance, it’s that he has an obsession with watching Lance’s body open up for him. It’s absolutely incredible to him that he can fit his dick into that tiny little ass without hurting Lance.

“What’re you staring at?” Lance grumbles, feeling oddly self-conscious.

“My cock looks so fuckin’ good in you,” Steve answers immediately, not looking away as he pushes back into Lance. He watches each into disappear into the smaller man’s body until he can’t get any deeper. But just to double check, he rams his hips forward, earning a sharp yelp from Lance.

That’s the end of Steve being gentle for now. He fucks into the Olympian recklessly, the new angle allowing him to hit every spot he couldn’t reach before. His hips strike against Lance’s pert backside, balls heavy and slapping against the cleft of his ass. Lance’s length bounces against his stomach with every thrust, landing with a wet smack.

It’s not nearly as animalistic as last time. Steve doesn’t want it to be. He wants to take his time with Lance. He wants to ruin it for anyone and everyone that could possibly ever touch Lance again, and he won’t give this up until he’s satisfied with that.

A pang of jealousy shoots through him at the thought of anyone else being with Lance like this. He hates that he feels that way, but it’s difficult for him to even imagine Lance with anyone else. It’s selfish, he knows, for him to want this to himself. He’s well aware that this man couldn’t possibly feel the same way. Lance Tucker doesn’t have feelings.

Beneath him, Lance’s stare is locked on Steve’s face. His expression is so intense, and Lance realizes that he’s never actually told Steve how beautiful he thinks he is. Sure, his sarcasm probably wouldn’t read well with actual compliments, but it wouldn’t hurt him to try.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Stevie,” he says softly, grabbing Steve’s head with both hands and pulling him down into a much gentler kiss.

Steve’s honestly caught off-guard. He slows his thrusts down to just above a leisurely pace, but continues to move in long, full strokes. Lance shifts, lowering his legs back to Steve’s hips. He meets Steve’s hips in the middle, and he’s not sure how much more his body can take. It already feels like Steve’s about to fucking split him in half, but the pressure in his abdomen is verging on agony.

“I could spend all day like this,” Steve murmurs against Lance’s lips. Lance licks up into Steve’s mouth, securely crossing his ankles against Steve’s lower back, keeping him as close as he possibly can.

“I need to come, Steve. Please.” He’s so breathless that Steve can’t stave off the urge anymore. He puts just a little more power behind his thrusts, angling his hips just right so the ridge of his head is dragging over Lance’s prostate with every thrust.

“Shit! Ah – Oh, fuck,” Lance shouts, eyes pinching shut at the overwhelming sensations. He’s on overload, and he can’t fucking take it. Weakly, he warns that he’s close. Its relief that he needs after how hard he’s been worked over, and Steve caves, not cruel enough to deny him again.

Mercifully, Steve reaches between their bodies and starts pumping Lance’s cock at a doubled pace modeled after his thrusts.

“I want you to look at me, Lance,” he gently commands. Lance’s eyelids flutter open, and Steve smiles, adding, “Come for me.”

The first rope of come splatters against Steve’s chest, the second shooting up against his chin as he leans in for just one more kiss. Steve milks every last drop from his balls, still chasing his own release. Lance can feel Steve’s length twitch inside him, and he knows what’s coming. Steve starts to pull out. But no, that’s not what Lance wants. He may be submissive when he’s beneath Steve, but he always gets what he fucking wants. No exceptions. Flexing his thighs, he uses the leverage to keep Steve inside him.

Steve cocks an eyebrow, not quite sure what Lance is implying. He must’ve had a really dumb look on his face, because Lance just says, “Inside.”

“You want me to…?”

“Come inside me, Cap,” Lance clarifies.

There’s that name again, and Steve can’t hold off. His hips stutter once, twice, thrice, and he’s coming. Stream after stream of his come unloads into Lance.

After riding out the aftershocks, Steve’s muscles feel like jello, and he can’t hold himself up anymore. Pulling out slowly, he outright _whines_ at the sight of his come leaking from Lance’s thoroughly fucked ass. Easily in the top three hottest things he’s ever seen in his life, if he’s honest.

On the way down, he steals one more kiss, unsure if he’ll ever get another.

Neither of them speaks for a while. The air between them is filled with their ragged breaths and the smell of sweat and sex. Steve uses his last ounce of strength to pull Lance closer to him, not giving him an option but to be the little spoon for the time being. Lance doesn’t protest or try to stop him because honestly, he needs this. He craves this. He want to go to bed every night and wake up every morning just like this, here, with Steve. And that scares the shit out of him. It’s so uncharacteristic of him.

It’s not until Steve starts kissing the back of his neck, however, that Lance realizes just how fucked he is, and not in the physical sense.

Scooting away from Steve, he damn near falls when he climbs off the bed, legs unsteady and shaking. Lance pushes forward, though, body be damned. He snags his briefs from where they’re tucked inside his pants and puts them back on, reaching for said pants next.

“Where ya goin’?” Steve rasps, watching Lance’s ass bounce while he tries to wiggle back into his jeans.

“Home.” It’s curt and almost angry, and Steve doesn’t understand. Lance buttons and zips his pants like it’s nothing, like nothing even happened. A fire starts in Steve’s stomach, and it fucking _hurts_. He moves to the edge of the bed and sits up, staring at Lance like he struck him across the face.

“Why?”

Lance doesn’t have a good answer for that, so he says the only things he can think of.

“Guys like me don’t stick around, Rogers. We fuck and take off.”

Pain and confusion radiate off of Steve in droves, and Lance can’t even bring himself to look in Steve’s general direction, let alone look him in the eye. He has to leave. He has to get out. If Steve ever turns him away, it’ll destroy him. He’s not used to anyone else having that much power over him. It’s a kill or be killed kind of world, and Steve’s holding the knife.

Lance gets the bedroom door open about a good few inches before Steve’s across the room, slamming the door and pinning Lance to the wall. He waits for a moment, knowing damn well that Tucker will speak up if he’s crossed a line. When he doesn’t, Steve proceeds, letting his hands mould to the shape of Lance’s jaw.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, leaning in until their lips are almost touching. At first, he doesn’t react, but when Lance cranes forward to connect, Steve backs off.

_God damn it, Steve. Just give me one last kiss. That’s all I want. Just one._

Lance lets out an irritated huff before trying again, and again, he fails. “I ain’t kissin’ you ‘til you tell me you’ll stay.”

“Steve, please.” His voice is so quiet, so small, that Steve almost misses it. His tongue flicks across Lance’s lower lip, and Lance grabs Steve’s narrow hips.

“Say it, baby.”

“Stevie, _please_.” The urgency in his voice is almost enough to break Steve’s resolve. They both know what game he’s playing, and Steve knows can’t lose. If he loses the game, he loses Lance. Probably for good. So he draws a breath shakily before giving it one more shot.

“Sugar, I need t’hear you say it.”

_Tell me you want to stay. Tell me you want to be with me. At least for tonight, but please… God, don’t fucking leave, Lance…_

Lance takes a deep breath, prepared to outright tell Steve to fuck off, he's not gonna stay the night like some teenage girl at a sleepover. It'll hurt both of them, but it's best in the long run. For his sake and Steve's.

And the words that come out of his mouth are anything but that.

“I love you, Steve…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. Lance struggling with all this confusion and unsure how he should act.  
> However will they reconcile?  
> (I'll give you a hint: it'll happen in part three)
> 
>  
> 
> Comments would be rad. : )

**Author's Note:**

> harass me on tumblr: @sebeefstianstan


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